


Forget, Forget, Remember

by forgetmenotjimmy



Series: Can You Hear Me? [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Garth and Jericho's deaths are mentioned, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Medication, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Team as Family, Therapy, no one else dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetmenotjimmy/pseuds/forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: Jericho dies and the Titans disband. After everyone leaves, Dick shuts down the main computer, gets the gun they’d confiscated from a criminal and goes to sit in his bathtub.He doesn’t know how long he sits there, crying and praying for forgiveness. Desperately wishing for Death as hard as he wants someone to find him.Eventually, someone does.Version 1: Hank and Donna: Hank had just forgotten his iPod, he hadn't ever guessed he'd be saving a life when he returned to the Tower.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Hank Hall, Past Dick Grayson/Dawn Granger, Pre Hank Hall/Dawn Granger
Series: Can You Hear Me? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014393
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Forget, Forget, Remember

**Author's Note:**

> So I've just finished watching Titans s2 and I have a lot of feelings. Here are some for you now...  
> See End Notes for Trigger Warning.

They were almost out of the city when Hank swore tiredly.

Dawn looked over. “What?”

“I forgot my iPod.” Hank said. 

A beat of silence and then Dawn sighed. “Are you sure you can’t live without it?”

“It’s got my calming playlist.”

Without a word, she turned the car around. Back at the Tower, Hank hopped out and ran up. He didn’t think anything of the systems still being operational, just tapping his leg in the elevator and thinking.

Just a quick in and out and then he and Dawn were away for good. Leave all the horror and heartbreak behind. Get a fresh start.

The lights were out as he got out the elevator but Hank didn’t mind that; he walked to his room and picked up the iPod which had fallen just under his bed.

Quickly, he went back out into the hall and felt himself begin to smile.

And hey, maybe by getting her away from Dick he could romance her properly, make his case, they could…

Hank stopped walking, brow furrowing. 

Someone was crying.

_ What? Who the Hell was..? _

Looking around, Hank figured out the noise was coming from Dick’s room. Although he’d never actually heard Dick crying before, Hank knew that it was him. It sounded like really ugly crying, too, the kind that racked your whole body. He swallowed, heart feeling heavy. 

Instinctively, he turned towards Dick’s door but then stopped himself. Okay Dick was upset, but so were all of them. They were all mourning their loss and kicking themselves for agreeing to the stupid plan in the first place. Dick was a vigilante, one of the most experienced, he wouldn’t want to be coddled, even if Hank did owe it to him to try.

There was a reason he’d waited until everyone had left to break down. Yeah, he definitely wouldn't want Hank of all people to walk in and see him like that.

And most importantly, Hank reasoned, Dawn was waiting for him.

Squaring his jaw, Hank continued walking to the main room. But then-

“No!” Dick cried 

Hank froze.

“Shut up! Leave me alone!”

Again, Hank looked in the direction of Dick’s room, mind whirring. Had Donna come back? It didn’t seem likely, but then she and Dick were close-

In the suspended silence, Hank heard something he’d recognize anywhere: a gun cocking.

_ What the Hell was going on? _

He ran into Dick’s bedroom. Empty. The door to the en suite was ajar. Hank crashed into the room, the door flung back so hard it smacked into the wall. Dick jumped but thank the Lord had enough sense not to have his finger on the trigger. He just stared up at Hank.

Hank stared back. Dick was the only one in there: sitting in the bathtub, gun to his head.

Hank’s stomach hollowed out and he almost choked on air. 

“Whokay, let’s just, take a minute.” He managed to say, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a calming manner. God he wished Dawn had come up with him; she’d know what to do.

Dick blinked. “Hank?” 

His face was a mess of tears and snot, his lip swollen from biting it and his face blotchy. Any other time Hank would be reveling in the less-than-perfect presentation of Mr Pretty Boy but yeah, priorities.

“You wanna give that to me?” Hank nodded to the gun, trying to keep his voice level.

Dick turned his head a little to look at the gun like he’d forgotten it was there. He didn’t lower it though, instead asking. “What are you doing here?”

The stress of the situation was starting to fray on Hank’s nerves and he’d never been the most patient person to begin with.

“Give me the gun and we can talk, yeah?” Hank’s eyes darted around, judging the distance between them, weighing up if he could safely make a grab for it.

Gaze going distant, Dick said. “You left.” 

“And I came back. Give me the gun, Dick.”

“I need it.” Dick replied really, really unhelpfully. Then his expression twisted into a dark smile. “You can have it when I’m done.”

Hank’s temper flared and he demanded. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“As much as everything else.” Dick replied, eyes shining and a little crazed. “One big cosmic joke. That’s my life, why shouldn’t my death be a joke too?” 

As he talked, the gun turned ever so slightly away from his head and Hank pounced, forcing the muzzle up to the ceiling. Unprepared, Dick didn’t resist at all, letting Hank rip the gun from his hand and unload the magazine, putting both on the counter.

After a long, relief-flooded moment, Dick scrambled to his feet, eyes wide and maybe a little afraid. “You’re here?”

“Yeah, we’ve already established that, whoa!” Hank said as Dick tripped getting out of the tub and half-fell on him.

Dick gripped the front of Hank’s shirt, face so close to Hank’s that could see all of Dick’s pretty little lashes.

“You’re actually  _ here _ ?” Dick whispered and Hank finally understood. 

_ Jesus Christ. What the Hell was going on? _

“Yes.” Hank said.

“You came back?”

“I forgot my iPod.” Hank answered without thinking.

Dick stared at him a moment before snorting, breaking out into giggles. Hank huffed out a laugh too, relief flooding him. Dick let go of Hank’s shirt, head dropping and shoulders shaking with laughter. It took Hank a moment to realize Dick had slipped from laughter to sobs. 

Dick began to slide to the floor so Hank caught him and lowered them to sit; holding Dick to his chest as Dick cried and cried and cried.

Feeling useless, Hank rubbed Dick’s back and tried to remember what comforting things his mom and later Don would say to him after a nightmare. It turned out generic stuff but hey, didn’t seem like it was making anything worse.

Hank tried to focus on the words he was saying not letting his mind process what he’d just walked in on. What he’d prevented...

They were sat there so long that Hank’s phone began to ring in his pocket. Still holding Dick, whose crying had calmed down to the odd sniffle, Hank awkwardly got it out and answered.

“Hank? What’s taking so long? Did you drop it down the back of the sofa or something?” Dawn’s voice was like a warm ray of sun.

“Hey, can you come up? We’ve got a situation.”

“Of course. Is it serious?”

Dick pulled away, wiping his face with his sleeve and clearing his throat.

Hank watched him warily. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“It’s fine.” Dick, the idiot, said.

“Is that Dick?” Dawn asked, voice growing more concerned.

“Hurry, would ya? I am not qualified for this.” Hank answered as he climbed to his feet.

“Okay, I’m coming up now.” Dawn hung up.

Hank looked down at Dick half-crumpled on the floor, slightly turned away from him. He glanced at the gun and another wave of anger crashed through him.

“What the Hell  _ was  _ that?”

Dick didn’t answer or even look at him.

“What were you thinking?”

“I thought you were gone.” Dick muttered, probably not meaning for Hank to hear.

Suddenly furious, Hank grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Far from looking concerned, Dick just sighed. Hank frogmarched him to the bed and sat him down.

“Stay.”

Then he returned to the bathroom and pocketed the magazine, putting the gun in the band of his trousers. He looked around at the bathroom, nothing else looked amiss. Not wanting to be in the same room as Dick but also not wanting to leave him alone too long, Hank wrestled with himself for a moment.

Eventually, he stepped into the bedroom doorway, leaning against the frame. Dick didn’t seem to notice. Instead he stayed slumped on the bed with a thousand-yard stare in those youthful eyes.

Over the years, the Titans had seen each other in all sorts of states: exhausted from long fights, defeated when innocents died, traumatized by sadistic scenes or villains but this...Hank had never seen their leader like this.

He heard footsteps in the hall and quickly made his way over, stepping out and pulling the door to, leaving a crack so he could keep an eye on Dick, still motionless on the bed.

Dawn’s brow was wrinkled. “What’s wrong? Where’s Dick?”

Hank showed her the gun. “I found him in the bathtub, with this.”

Dawn gasped and she pushed past Hank, stumbling into the room. Dick turned at the sound, but after a beat, returned to staring at the window.

Recovering slightly, Dawn turned to Hank. He shrugged; not sure he could explain even if he wanted to. Visibly swallowing, Dawn slowly walked around into Dick’s line of vision.

“Dick? What’s going on?”

“I lied.” He said.

Dawn exchanged another glance with Hank but he didn’t know what that meant either.

“When I said he was dead when I got there. He wasn’t.”

The temperature in the room dropped. No need to ask who he was talking about.

Hank really, really did not like where this was going. But he forced himself to stay quiet. It seemed important that Dick told them. So he’d listen.

“He was talking to Slade, to his father. They were arguing.” Dick’s fists clenched. “I didn’t...Deathstroke heard me so I came out.”

He paused, taking in a shaky breath. Then continued. “Jericho didn’t want us to fight. We told him to leave. He didn’t.”

His tone was flattening out, like he was debriefing them after a mission. It made it easier to hear, even if part of Hank rebelled against the idea that Jericho’s death was merely something that happened on a mission. He’d been an amazing kid that was dead because of them. He’d deserved so much more.

“Deathstroke beat me into the ground. I couldn’t get up. He took out his sword. And Jericho...”

Dick’s voice cracked. “He...stepped into it.”

Silence. Hank looked at Dawn and saw her covering her mouth, tears in her eyes. He felt pretty upset himself but couldn’t muster up any tears.

“Dick.” Dawn said, though she didn’t seem to know what to say beyond that.

“It’s my fault. He’s dead because of me. It should’ve been me ins-”

“No!” Dawn burst out. “Don’t you dare say that!” 

Hank couldn't see Dick’s face but based on Dawn’s frustrated huff, he guessed there hadn’t been much of a reaction. 

She knelt down, hands on Dick’s shoulders. “Dick, look at me.”

Hank’s stomach twisted like it always did when he saw them together. For one, awful moment, he regretted coming back to the Tower at all. Then he wanted to punch himself. Whatever his problems with Dick, of course he’d never want him to suffer alone...after everyone had abandoned him. 

Hank watched Dawn put her arms around Dick and Dick kind of squirm away weakly, like he wasn’t comfortable but couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

And wasn’t that familiar? Not being able to accept gentleness and comfort from someone who loved you; not believing yourself worthy of it.

Poor kid.

And he  _ was _ a kid. Hank remembered suddenly. Sure the rest of them were only just adults but Dick was nineteen.

A nineteen year old kid who’d been fighting crime and seeing the worst of humanity for years; who led a team of boisterous, damaged young adults and who’d just watched a friend die. Who’d almost been killed himself by a terrifying master assassin.

Who’d been left alone with all his guilt in the place he’d once confessed had felt like his true home. 

Jesus.

Now Hank  _ really _ felt like an asshole.

Dawn was talking in low tones and feeling superfluous, Hank wandered down the hall to the main room. Seeing everything covered in sheets made his heart clench and he closed his eyes, trying to center his thoughts like Donna once advised him. He focused on the faint smell of pizza and his memory of Garth’s booming laugh. He remembered drunken karaoke, ill-advised bets and even more ill-advised pranks. God, how angry the girls would get if anyone tried messing with them. Garth had sorely regretted trying to prank Dawn, Donna helping her to get revenge.

Hank’s eyes burned but he kept them closed and just breathed.

...

They took Dick back to DC with them. Hank couldn’t find it within himself to protest, despite really not being happy with the arrangement: Dawn in her old place, Dick and Hank in Hank’s apartment. The one he used to share with Don.

Dick had been over before, back in the pre-Titans days; when it had been three wild kids fighting crime and trash talking Batman. They’d had fun: watching early morning TV after a patrol, eating junk, falling asleep on each other and almost being normal for a few hours. 

Still, it didn’t mean Hank wanted him there all the time. Especially after...everything.

Even worse was Dawn’s insistence they all go to therapy.

“Yeah, talking about feelings isn’t in my skill set, remember?” Hank said in the silence after Dawn’s hopeful suggestion.

Dawn glanced at Dick and flashed a strained smile before dragging Hank into the kitchenette.

“He really needs professional help and he won’t let Bruce get involved.”

“What does that have to do with  _ me  _ going to a shrink?”

“Because it’ll be a sign of solidarity and-”

“Dawn-”

“Please Hank, he feels…” She sighed. “You know how he is about showing weakness and not being as good as us at anything.”

Hank did know. He could name hundreds of times Dick had pushed past his limits to prove himself, had taken any talent or skill the others had as a challenge and pretended to know something as well as they knew it. No wonder Hank forgot Dick was the baby of the group, with how often the guy would go out of his way to hide that fact.

So yeah, he could understand Dick seeing the need for therapy as another way he was inferior to everyone else. That didn’t mean  _ Hank _ was going to do it though. He had his own way of dealing with his problems and it didn’t include spilling all his inner thoughts to a highly paid stranger in a stuffy office.

“I’m doing it too.” Dawn interrupted Hank’s thoughts. When Hank just made a ‘good for you’ face, Dawn whacked his arm. “Come on, just for a few sessions. Please.”

Hank held back a sigh and cursed how far gone he was for her.

“Okay, but only if Wonder Boy is footing the bill.” 

Her smile was worth it.

Hank didn’t know exactly what Dawn told the therapist or the therapist office or whatever, only that the three were all signed up for grief counselling. She’d arranged it so whenever Dick had a session, one of them also had a session booked around the same time, so they could drive him back to Hank’s. Neither trusted Dick to be alone for longer than five minutes.

What concerned Hank the most was how passive Dick was being. It was like he was a zombie; hardly reacting when spoken to and not offering any comments of his own. Gone was the fiery, opinionated kid that had followed them around until getting enough confidence to invite them to found their own team together. Staring at the ceiling instead of sleeping, Hank would wonder if they’d ever get that kid back. 

It didn’t help that Dick came back from his first session with a prescription for anti-psychotic meds. Dawn told Hank that Dick’s therapist thought they might only be a temporary thing and Hank spent a moment wondering how Dawn had known that before remembering that she was the type of person to ask directly. And Dick would always answer Dawn’s questions.

The first few sessions, Hank barely spoke; just watched the clock or answered questions in mono-syllables. His therapist was a youngish looking woman with a soft, round face and although her eyes were kind, Hank just couldn’t trust them. Afterwards he wouldn’t ask about Dick’s time and neither would Dick as about his. They’d drive back, go to their rooms and not talk. It was fine.

Whatever had happened during Dick’s third session though, that had caused him to have nightmares the following night. Hank was woken by screaming and rushed in to find Dick writhing in his sheets and pleading for Deathstroke to kill him instead.

Feeling as helpless as the first time, Hank nonetheless brought Dick into a hug and Dick let him, sobbing until he slumped, exhausted. They dragged themselves to the couch and watched infomercials until the morning. Hank didn't mind as his dreams hadn't exactly been pleasant. The usual stuff now joined by visions of Garth's corpse staring accusingly at him, asking him why he hadn't been avenged.

At Hank’s next session, he found himself talking about Dick. It was easier to talk about how worried he was about Dick and how his friend was handling his own pain. After all, Dick must have it worse if he thought about ending it all. His therapist seemed to sense this thought and warned him not to compare experiences. Everyone's struggles were just as valid as anyone else's. Hank shrugged that off but she had some good advice for how to help Dick with his nightmares and make him feel more normal again. So, okay, maybe the sessions weren’t a complete waste of time.

Hank left feeling a little better and the atmosphere in the car during the drive back was lighter than usual.

...

After two months of therapy the awkwardness of their living situation got better. Hank had grown accustomed to Dick the House Guest and it wasn’t terrible, especially as the Dick he knew was starting to reappear. He’d wash up after himself and do the laundry without prompting, he would participate more in conversations and was actually quite a good gym buddy. Hank and Dick would have to be careful not to show off their best moves, but they went boxing a few times and got some praise.

One day, Hank was telling Dick something 'inspiring' his therapist had told him when Dick suddenly interrupted.

“You should ask her out.”

He said it like he’d been thinking about it for a long time.

Confused, Hank asked. “My therapist?”

Dick gave Hank a sardonic look, before sobering. “Even if I wasn’t a basket-case, it wouldn’t work between us. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

So, they were having this conversation. Hank sighed. “It seemed to work just fine before.”

“That was before. You should go for it.” 

“Why are you so interested?”

“She loves you.” Dick said. “You would be happy together.”

Hank stared at Dick, taken aback by the conviction, how Dick made it sound like a fact.

“You should think about it.” Dick went on.

He wasn’t sure what Dick’s agenda was and was beginning to feel condescended to. Where did Dick get off judging who was good together and ‘giving his blessing’?

“Thanks.” Hank said finally, not bothering to hide his irritation.

Dick assessed him a moment before opening the newspaper he'd already read. They didn’t talk for the rest of the day but something had changed in the air. Hank felt like his breathing came easier and there was less pressure on chest. 

That evening he invited Dawn over and the three of them hung out like old times. Either through design or chance, Dick and Dawn kept a healthy distance between them, with Hank in the middle. And Dick excused himself early, saying he was going to bed.

After the weird ‘I’m cool with it’ speech from the day before, Hank suddenly felt a little awkward being alone with Dawn. If she noticed anything though, she didn’t mention it and they spent another couple of hours together, reminiscing and talking about their plans.

Hank had signed up for a personal trainer course and Dawn was still deciding which career she wanted. 

It was nice. For the first time in a long time, Hank had felt like back in the old days. When anything was possible and the future was open to them. Looking at Dawn’s face, he thought she felt it too.

...

The next morning, he found Dick sitting on the couch with his jacket and shoes on, duffel bag beside him.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Hank asked, heart clenching.

“Donna’s. I need to tell her the truth and get my life together.” Dick answered smoothly. He’d recovered his charisma and if Hank hadn’t seen what he’d seen, he might have been reassured.

“Uhuh. You clear this with Dawn?” Because like Hell was Hank going to protest Dick leaving, at least out loud.

“We talked about it a few days ago.” Dick answered.

Hank snorted, he’d bet a lot of money that the conversation had been largely hypothetical and at no point had Dawn agreed that Dick should take off so soon by himself.

“So we’re all going?” Hank tried.

“I need to do this.” Dick said as he stood. “And you two have a life here.”

Hank read between the lines and although part of him almost burst with happiness at the thought of having a chance with Dawn, he still worried about the kid leaving on his own.

As if reading his thoughts, Dick pulled out a pill bottle from his pocket. He shook it. “I’m all filled up and Derren signed off on it. You can call him and ask.”

Hank belatedly remembered that was the name of Dick’s therapist and then took a moment to size his friend up. There was the typical Grayson look: eyes clear and sharp, jaw tight and chin up. He was determined and focused.

He was Dick again.

Hank let out a long breath and then held out a hand. Dick hesitated, then shook it.

“Good luck.” Hank said.

Dick nodded. “You too.”

He shouldered his bag and walked to the door. Hank watched him leave and told himself he wasn’t making a huge mistake.

As expected Dawn wasn’t happy when she found out but apparently Dick called her from Donna’s place and they talked.

“He’s going to stay a while, so she can keep an eye on him.” Dawn told Hank over some beers.

They were in their bar, the one by the group counselling place they’d visited so much in the past. 

Hank clinked their bottles. “And he can look out for her.”

Dawn nodded, smiling softly. Hank found himself staring and even when Dawn’s cheeks grew red, he couldn’t stop.

“Dawn, will you go out with me?”

She swallowed and after a long, considering look, she took his hand.

“Yes.”

Hank’s heart soared. It really was the start of something good.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Hank finds Dick holding a gun to his head and hallucinating. Dick states he wants to kill himself but Hank gets the gun off him and comforts him.
> 
> The amount of times spell check changed ‘Slade’ to ‘salad’ omg.  
> Also I gave up on getting the show timeline straight but the Titans wiki says Dick was born two years after Dawn, and at Garth’s 22nd birthday, he mentions the rest of them are a year younger than him. To me it makes sense that Dick be a little younger and less mature, so in this fic Dick is 19 and everyone else is 21.
> 
> So, I have some ideas for this scenario but with other characters finding Dick. What do we think about:  
> Deathstroke (and Jericho)  
> Donna  
> Bruce  
> Other suggestions?


End file.
